


Glitter and Blood

by unerv



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: F/M, I have no idea what to tag this as, School Hard, Season 2, episode rewrite
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-10
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-06-08 13:24:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 882
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15244338
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unerv/pseuds/unerv
Summary: During "School Hard", Buffy catches Spike watching her dance.





	Glitter and Blood

**Author's Note:**

> Dialogue is taken from Episode 3 of BTVS Season 2, "School Hard".

It’s midnight and the music in the Bronze throbs like a heartbeat.

Buffy Summer sits at a table under the glow of the flickering fluorescent lights, sipping idly at a diet Coke and doing her best studious impression of Willow as said best friend tries to save her from a getting big fat F on next week’s French quiz. So far, it’s not going very well.

She stumbles through a sentence of translation and looks at Willow, who tries not to cringe.

Buffy pouts. “Was that wrong? Should I use the plural?”

“No!” Willow says, “But, uh, you said: ‘The cow should touch me from Thursday’.”

“Maybe that’s what I was feeling.”

“...then you said it wrong.”

Buffy scrunches up her nose in frustration. “Wow, I suck.”

Ugh, it’s so unfair. On top of normal slayage duties and trying not to get expelled during Parent-Teacher Night, she has to worry about French too? It’s too much. Why does she even need to learn another language anyway? The Hellmouth is in Sunnydale, so that’s where she’ll always be. All Buffy ever needs to know about France she already knows: croissants and Saint Laurent.

Like the loyal sidekick, Willow tries to soften the blow, “You’re just not focused! It’s Angel miss-age.”

Buffy sighs. It’s not like Angel promised to show up or anything, but she’d hoped he would make one of those famous surprise appearances. She’d done her makeup, worn that glittery eyeshadow her mom had gotten her for her birthday. She’d even worn her cute new halter top and everything; what a waste of an outfit. Buffy feels silly now for expecting him to waltz through the door and sweep her off her feet. Back in LA, when she’d been a cheerleader instead of the Vampire Slayer, Buffy had known how to play the boys of Hemery High like a fiddle. She had been a pro fiddle-player. Now, dating is weird and hard and totally not much of the fun having. Maybe, Buff wonders, it’s because Angel is, like, totally old. Does he not understand the intricate mechanisms of modern courting? Or...is it her? As the Slayer, is she truly supposed to exist alone?

It’s a scary thought, but Xander arrives just in time to distract her from a downward spiral.

“Come on!” he’s pleading with Willow. “One dance? You’ve been studying for, what? Twelve minutes?”

Buffy perks up at the distraction. “No wonder my brain is fried.”

Willow’s forehead gets all frowny but Buffy grabs her arm before she can further refuse, pulling her away from those pesky books and onto the dancefloor. Their trio finds an open spot near the stage and starts to get their groove on. Or, tries to anyway. Willow hops straight up and down like a nervous rabbit, and Xander’s less with the swaying and more with the arm-flailing. Still, it’s nice. Quality friend-time; it’s just what Buffy needs to get her mind off both school stuff and world-saving duties alike.

She feels it then, a tingle down her spine, that jolt of awareness on the back of her neck. A vampire. Not just any vamp either _—_ a Master, radiating power and age. Buffy shivers, looking wildly through the crowd for Angel.

Through the smoke and the sweat, darkness and din, flashing lights and gyrating bodies, Buffy locks eyes with a blue gaze. There’s a man with pale blond hair and a long leather coat watching her from the shadows near the bar. She breathes in sharply, momentarily stumbling before she regains her footing. Buffy expects him to look away now that he’s been caught staring, but he doesn’t and the way he watches her every move sets her skin on fire. In comparison to the earlier insecurity about Angel, it makes her feel attractive. Desired. Powerful.

Buffy lifts her arms, slowly, chest heaving as she breathes heavily, hips swaying to the music. She skims a hand down her belly, and then over her thigh, wishing she’d worn a mini-skirt. Still, his eyes blaze blue at the bold move. He moves closer to the dancefloor. Buffy’s entranced, bewitched, by his gaze. She licks her lower lip, tasting cherry-flavored lip gloss on her tongue.

Ignoring the confused looks from her friends and the lewd leers from a few college boys in the surrounding crowd, she puts on a show for the blond stranger. She feels good. She feels free. She’s suddenly very glad she decided to skip out on her usual nightly routine: curling up on the sofa and watching _Sex and the City_ before slipping out her window to hang out in the cemeteries.

The tinglies on her neck grow more insistent. Goosebumps spring up all over the exposed skin of her arms. Breathless, Buffy watches the blue-eyed man come closer still, reaching in his coat to light up a cigarette. His nails on both hands are covered in chipped black polish. Her heart is pounding in her chest like a drum. His nostrils flare, smoke curling toward the ceiling.

The crowd shifts; Buffy spins. The world blurs. Running a hand through her hair, she tosses a coy glance over her shoulder. But the mysterious stranger isn’t there. Neither are the tinglies. He’s gone, but, somehow, Buffy knows she’ll see him again _—_ this dance isn’t over.


End file.
